My Italian Billionaire: A BWWM Italian Billionaire Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Bonus Book

  Chapter One: The Will

  Chapter Two: The Funeral

  Chapter Three: Dinner

  Chapter Four: Dessert

  Chapter Five: Over the Top

  Chapter Six: Cooking for One

  Chapter Seven: The Student

  Chapter Eight: Working Girl

  Chapter Nine: Working Guy

  Chapter Ten: Axe to Grind

  Chapter Eleven: Trying to Help

  Chapter Twelve: Frustration

  Chapter Thirteen: The Fallout

  Chapter Fourteen: Saying Good Bye with a Kiss

  Chapter Fifteen: After

  Chapter Sixteen: Morning After

  Chapter Seventeen: Two Steps Forward

  Chapter Eighteen: One Step Back

  Chapter Nineteen: Crippling Loneliness

  Chapter Twenty: Progress

  Chapter Twenty-One: Happiness

  Publisher's Notes

  CRISTINA GRENIER PRESENTS

  My Italian Billionaire

  Stacey Mills

  Want to receive a FREE copy of this

  full length BWWM Romance by bestselling author Cristina Grenier?

  Click the cover below.

  Chapter One: The Will

  Lucca Greccio hated interruptions, and right now, his cell ringing was the last thing he wanted. One glimpse at the caller ID—his father's lawyer—had him pushing aside Olivia and answering.

  "Oh," she huffed, crossing her arms over her fake breasts.

  He ignored her. Fussy and demanding, she bored him. He planned on this being their last romp, but it would have to wait. "Mr. Valet, what is it? I'm a little preoccupied at the moment."

  Olivia giggled and kissed his bare shoulder.

  With a grimace, he jerked away from her and stood. The hotel room was decent sized, not as big as he preferred, but suitable for his purposes. "Mr. Valet?" he growled as he picked up his boxers from the floor and shimmied them up his hips. Now dressed somewhat, he strolled to the balcony. Holding the phone away from his mouth, he said, "Call up room service."

  Her cat-like eyes widened and brightened. Nothing got her happier than spending his money, the main reason why he wanted to be rid of her. She wasn't anything special, just like all the others. After him for his money or his looks. Although maybe it was the type of girl he sought that was the issue.

  He closed the balcony door behind him. "Mr. Valet, you called me. My time is precious—"

  "Lucca, your father's time has run out."

  "Excuse me?" Lucca gripped the railing. Rolling waves of the ocean far below should be a soothing sight, but all he could hear was the crash and boom of a growing tempest.

  "Lucca, I regret to inform you that your father has passed away."

  He closed his eyes. When he had last seen his father, two months ago, he had been in perfect health. "How?"

  "A sudden huge heart attack."

  Lucca opened his eyes and turned around to see a hotel employee rolling in their room service. On the plate, all Lucca saw was a puddle of grease. His stomach churned.

  "Did he suffer?" he asked quietly.

  "No. It was quick and most likely painless."

  That was good, wasn't it? Lucca and his father hadn't always seen eye to eye, having butted heads since Lucca became a teenager. What sixteen-year-old didn't want a car of his own since Father wouldn't allow anyone else to drive any of his six different models? He was now an orphan, since his mother had died fifteen years ago, and he was also now a millionaire.

  But he couldn't think about money now. His father was dead. At fifty-two, his father had been a bull of a man, and he'd assumed he'd reach at least one hundred. For all of their differences, and there had been many, his father had been a rock, the only constant in the ever-churning sea that was his life.

  "I'll take the first flight back home." He was currently in Athens for no other reason than that he had never been to Greece yet. In two days, he was supposed to be flying on to Italy to visit family. Home was back in New York.

  "See that you do."

  "I'll have to handle the funeral arrangements and…" He rubbed his forehead. A popping sound came from the room. Champagne. Would drinking help, or should he just take ibuprofen?

  "If you call me once you arrive, we can arrange a time for me to read the will."

  Somehow, the thought of it soured his stomach. "Do you know what it says?"

  "Ah…"

  His fingers rubbed his temple. "Just tell me what you know, Mr. Valet."

  "It would be better if—"

  "Please." A word he rarely ever used.

  "Very well then. Your father has a stipulation written into the will concerning the company."

  Lucca blinked. The sun was setting, streaking reds and oranges above the blue-green waters, the light too bright for his worsening migraine. "What kind of a stipulation?"

  "It seems, Lucca, that your father feared you would never settle down—"

  He barked a laugh. "Whatever gave him that impression?"

  The scores of women he dated? How could he help it that women fawned over him? He enjoyed life, enjoyed women, enjoyed fine food and vacations. He also worked hard. Father demanded it. "For when you run the company, my boy, when all this will be yours."

  "What is the stipulation?" he asked when the lawyer kept his silence.

  "You turn thirty in three months."

  "Yes," Lucca admitted, not liking where this was headed.

  "If you are not married before that date, you will not inherit his company. Your shares will be—"

  "I won't… Father couldn't have… I've worked my fingers to the bone to do everything he asked and this is how he repays me?"

  Silence grew, cold and heavy.

  Lucca winced. "I didn't mean—"

  "I'm sure you didn't. He does understand how hard you worked. He was prouder of you than you realize, I'm sure."

  "Then why this…" He wanted to add "preposterous," but refrained, "why this stipulation?"

  "Because he wished to ensure the Greccio line would not die out."

  Die out. His father was dead. Only now did the news truly sink in. Lucca leaned against the glass balcony door.

  "Having women is one thing," the lawyer added.

  Lucca snorted. His father often called his girlfriend’s whores and gold diggers, all unworthy of being associated with the greatness that was the Greccio’s. His father had been a proud man. Arrogant too, but most everyone admired him.

  Maybe his father did have a point. But children? He bought condoms in bulk. The idea of having a baby was almost enough for him to want to break out into hives. Not that he hadn't thought about settling down and starting a family. One day. A day far into the future. Not within three months.

  "Having a wife is quite another," Mr. Valet added.

  "So I gather." Lucca turned around. Through the glass, he watched as Olivia shoved in food as if she hadn't just eaten dinner in a five-star restaurant an hour ago. She was beautiful, almost model-like, but there wasn't any way he could ever even contemplate marrying her. Especially since he had already been planning on ending things with her. Basically, no more sex.

  Sex. The basis of most of his female relationships. Probably not the best way one went about finding a wife.

  How did one find a suitable marriage partner? And in only three months.

  Time was a tickin'.

  Chapter Two: The Funeral

  Rain battered down on the host of black umbrella
s, so frantic and feverishly that the drops almost drowned out the words from the pastor's mouth. Surrounded by extended family, Lucca shouldn't feel so alone, but he did.

  Mr. Valet had gone over the final details of the will earlier that morning. The clause was binding. Without a wife, Lucca would not only lose his claim on the company but he would no longer have his millions. If he hadn't worked tirelessly beside his father to make the business such a success and earn every cent of those millions, he might not have cared so much. His father had taught him that only those who worked hard should reap the benefit, and he had taken that message to heart.

  So why do I have to marry then?

  After the funeral, the burial, and then the luncheon, Lucca made his excuses and made his way to his father's house. Mansion might be more apt. He should probably sell the place, but throughout making all of the arrangements for today, he had been staying here, and another few nights wouldn't hurt.

  He climbed the grand staircase and entered his father's room. It truly was fit for a king with a canopy bed, ornate furniture, and a balcony. Over the dresser was a large oval photograph of Lucca's mother. A pretty picture of perfect Italian loveliness. Another woman like her couldn't possibly exist. As a boy, he had idolized her, and he knew how much his father had adored her.

  From his father's nightstand, he removed their wedding album and settled down at the roll top desk. Identical magical smiles graced their faces on every page, and their expressions of happiness served as a slap in the face.

  This was why his father had the stipulation in his will. He had experienced a love so deep it transcended time and death, and he wished the same for his playboy son.

  And, truth be told, Lucca wanted that too.

  ***

  "I don't get it. Why don't you just marry Olivia or Heather or Greta or—"

  "No, Paul." Lucca suppressed a sigh. He had just exited the coffee shop when his best friend called to check up on him. Paul was a businessman too and had been stuck out of the country for work, leaving him unable to come to the funeral a week ago.

  "Why not? It didn't sound like it said you had to be married for a certain length of time. If it doesn't work out, you can just divorce—"

  "No, Paul. You don't understand—"

  A woman plowed into him. Somehow, none of his coffee landed on his golf shirt and designer jeans, but dark liquid seeped onto her cream top. She hissed and jumped back.

  "Call you back." Lucca hung up. "Are you all right?"

  Chocolate eyes stared up at him, darker and deeper than any he had seen before. Black impossibly long lashes surrounded them, nestled in a dark face. Her curly black hair bounced as she shook her head. "I-I'll be fine. I'm sorry. I…"

  "It was my fault." It hadn't been; at least, he didn't think it had been his fault, but he had been distracted by his cell so it could very well have been. "Please, let me help." Feeling flustered—when did he ever feel flustered?—he started to hand her the napkin he held around his hot coffee cup, but then thought better of it and started to pat her shirt. When he dabbed higher, toward her breasts, she covered his hand with hers and took the napkin from him.

  "I'll take it from here." She paid more attention to her shirt than to him.

  For a moment, he stood there, dumbfounded. A woman who didn't give him a second glance. That didn't happen every day.

  His lips parted so he could offer to buy her a replacement shirt, but he swallowed the words. For some reason, he didn't want her to see him as anything other than an ordinary guy instead of the playboy millionaire he was.

  As she cleaned up, he couldn't help but notice how her shirt clung to her body. He appreciated all females in their various forms, but a curvy black woman deserved more than just a passing glance.

  And more than just spilled coffee.

  "Please, let me try and make this up to you," he said desperately, suddenly worried she had been in a rush to go somewhere and would leave him without him even learning her name.

  "It was my fault." She peered up at him through those lashes. No mascara. All natural. He had been with enough women to be able to tell.

  "Still. I feel badly for burning you."

  "I've been burned before," she said dryly. She lifted an arm sleeve to show him a small burn mark.

  "How did that happen?" He touched her arm. Soft. Smooth. Her skin felt like butter, the dark color a stark and lovely contrast to her cream-colored top.

  "I'm a cook."

  "A cook? I bet you never cook for yourself, am I right?" he asked smoothly.

  Her gaze fell to her watch.

  "If you're busy now, I understand, Miss…"

  "Megan. Megan Harris."

  "Hi, Megan. I'm Lucca." He held out his hand.

  Her eyes flashed, and he tightened his jaw. She might not be happy with him for not sharing his last name with her, but he didn't want to run the risk of her learning who he was. Not just yet.

  Finally, she slid her small hand into his. Although delicate, her handshake was firm, and he held onto her a moment or two longer than was necessary.

  People jostled around them on the crowded sidewalk, and he stepped toward her to allow them easier passage.

  "Dinner," he pressed. "Tonight or another night?"

  "I don't even know you," she protested.

  "You know I feel badly about your ruined top." He forced himself to stare into her eyes and not at the way her shirt now adhered to her breasts. Right now, he wasn't a playboy. He was just a guy, and she was just a woman. A woman he hoped wouldn't be like all the others.

  "You shouldn't. I bumped into you."

  "Why were you so distracted?" he asked.

  She shuffled her feet. "I thought I saw… It doesn't matter."

  "Oh, a celebrity stalker. I get it." He laughed. The first time he had since learning about his father. It helped to ease the tension in his chest.

  "I am not!" But she giggled. "All right. Fine, Lucca. Dinner. How about Chick fil A over on University Place."

  He blinked several times. Fast food. And she claimed to be a cook?

  "My cousin just started working there, and I want to surprise him." She stared at him. "I'm going to eat there at seven tonight with or without you."

  And then she walked away.

  He turned around to watch her swaying hips. Whoever this Megan Harris was, she had certainly captured his attention.

  Chapter Three: Dinner

  Megan changed into and out of tops until she had tried on every single one she owned. Why she cared so much, she didn't know, but that man she had met was gorgeous, and she didn't want to look out of place beside him.

  It's not as if we're going to a five-star restaurant. It's just Chick fil A!

  She grabbed and settled on a blue v-neck shirt that brightened her skin. A few picks at her hair and she gave up. Her hair was what it was.

  Her nerves were all jumbled as she hurried down the street toward the eatery. It's not as if this was even a real date, not that she had time for dating right now. She was way too busy with work to even think about a relationship. That she had the night off tonight was rare as it was, and here she was, spending part of it with a man she didn't know.

  A man she wouldn't mind getting to know, she thought, and hoped. Hell, she hardly knew what she wanted anymore. It wasn't easy, her job. Getting respect in the cooking industry as a woman wasn't easy, not if you weren't white or born with a silver spoon in your mouth. She was black and proud of it, and although she had grown up in a modest home, she was struggling to survive in the high-class living that was New York City. Still, she refused to be run out of town.

  As long as she didn't get fired…

  I'm not going to worry about that right now.

  Although they didn't have the crossing sign, a crowd of people rushed out into the street, and she tagged along and cut up the block to Chick fil A. Even with her power walking it, she entered at quarter after seven. She glanced around the crowded establishment, and her heart sank.
The tall, dark-haired, amazingly brown-eyed hunk from earlier was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, she had thought him to be the punctual type. Normally, she was, but the last few outfit changes ate up more time than she thought.

  Oh well. Just one more disappointment in her life. They were really starting to rack up lately. What with her landlord jacking up her monthly rent to her cat dying last week… It seemed like she couldn't win.

  Her gaze swept over the menu. They had to have dessert, right? She needed a pick-me-up.

  Order picked out, she got into the second line, so she'd reach the register where her cousin was operating. Derrick's sheepish grin as he begged a customer to be patient with him belied the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was nervous. Poor guy. His mom, her aunt, worked like a dog at her three part-time jobs, and he had taken the position to try to help her out. Job security for a single black mom just wasn't there.

  The other line moved faster, that cashier was efficient, but Megan kept her spot. She was surprised when someone stood behind her. One person received their order and then another. Just two more and she'd be up. Good. She was hungry.

  "Blue is my favorite color," a low voice whispered in her ear.

  She shivered before she could hide her reaction to his closeness, his breath hot on her skin. She turned her face slightly, startled that he remained so close to her. All she had to do was shift a little more and she could kiss his cheek. "You came," she whispered back.

  "I did." Lucca gave her a wide grin. "Why are we whispering?" he asked as he straightened.

  Absurdly, she missed his closeness. Ridiculous. She knew nothing about the man. Just because he was beyond hot didn't mean she should fall all over him. Her last boyfriend had been hot. And an ass. She'd kicked his ass to the curb when she realized he'd been stealing from her.

  "You started it." She twisted around to see him and shrugged one shoulder.

  "What can I say? I like to start things." He flashed that grin again.

  "I'm sure that smile gets you lots of things," she said. Belatedly, she realized she could move up in line.